


A Deep Ecstasy

by Peapods



Series: The Fire Thief [5]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 05:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13781169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peapods/pseuds/Peapods
Summary: It's the small things that make a relationship, though the big things don't hurt.





	A Deep Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/gifts).



> Unbeta-ed (meaning I haven't let it sit for a month before editing it). Please let me know about any glaring typos.

They both work late nights. It's unavoidable and they don't waste time on wondering who does it most (it's definitely Albert.) Rather, they have found individual balms for their missing time. 

When Dale comes in late, Albert is almost always awake. He no longer sleeps well without the other man and doesn't even make a pretence of it these days. He'll doze in front of the TV with a scotch and a magazine on his lap, but won’t go to bed, he won't even undress. Dale still comes in as quietly as he can. He's careful not to let his keys jangle and he pulls his shoes off in the hall. Sometimes Albert is awake and sometimes Dale’s arrival stirs him, but more often than not, it is his partner's hand on his shoulder that reminds Albert that he is not in bed, that he has been waiting. 

After that, Dale will help him up and they'll shuffle their way to the bedroom where Albert will help with Dale’s suit jacket and Dale will quietly scold Albert for not even loosening his own tie, pulling on it and flicking open his buttons. Albert will argue for boxers and undershirts while Dale will quietly cajole him into a soft t-shirt and flannel bottoms. Albert's like a petulant toddler as he fights Dale over brushing his teeth and drinking a glass of water.

Finally, they get into bed and Albert can relax. He only knows that this has all occurred the next morning because he has done it so often.

When Albert is late, as he is tonight and for the third night this week, Dale doesn't wait up. At first, he tries to and tells Albert that he feels badly that Albert waits up for him, but Albert tells him that's stupid. If he could sleep, he would. Dale goes to bed after that.

When Albert gets home, he doesn't make any special effort to be quiet. Dale knows his sounds and has taught himself not to wake up. He always eats in the cafeteria before he comes home so he only has a few things to do before he squirms into bed.

He checks the fridge to see if there are remnants of Dale’s dinner. Left to his own devices, Dale tends toward simple things that he knows he can stomach without issue. There's a cling-wrapped bowl labeled with his name. Inside is a salad. There are strawberries on it. He snorts to himself; Dale is an eternal optimist when it comes to Albert’s health. 

But upon that discovery, he pulls out the oats. Fruit for dinner means there's too much in the crisper that will go bad within a few days. And yep, sure enough, he finds blueberries, strawberries, and a banana that's closer to brown than yellow. He puts the oats in the slow cooker and chops everything up. He leaves it on low--Dale will be getting up in a few hours. He puts together a quick tuna salad in tupperware and dumps it, an apple, two slices of bread, and a Danish in a paper bag and puts in the fridge. Finally, he programs the coffeemaker and sets out a to-go mug.

Dale's briefcase is open with files fanned out over the dining table. Albert stacks them by case number and puts them back. He puts the briefcase by the to-go mug. Finally, he turns off the lights, pulls off his shoes, and shuffles off to the bedroom.

Blackout curtains keep the room pitch black. They put in dimmers the year before and he slowly cranks the dial up until he can see Dale on the bed, a lump under a thick comforter. In their walk-in, Albert changes into a t-shirt and flannel. He knows Dale has already laid a suit out for tomorrow, but he pulls out a tie with pale purple pinstripe and a pair of cufflinks with a small conifer etched into each one. He puts them on the dresser next to Dale's badge.

He dims the light back to black and makes his way to the side of the bed by rote. Dale hasn't moved once, but when Albert settles at his back, he shifts backwards, ass settling against Albert’s groin. It's not sexual; it's intimate, comfort seeking behavior. Albert slides an arm around Dale's waist and breathes out and into sleep.

*****

Albert’s small gestures go unremarked, but not unnoticed. There's a doughnut on his desk when he get in. There's a sandwich when he gets back from an autopsy. And when he gets home, soft, frankly romantic, jazz is playing and the apartment smells like curry.

“A hastily thrown together lunch does not merit a homemade curry,” Albert starts arguing immediately when he walks into the kitchen. His partner only smiles and nods to the wine decanting on the island. A sniff reveals it as one of the bottles Denise had given them upon their taking up permanent cohabitation. He pours two glasses and places one within reach of Dale should he pivot from the stove.

“It occurred to me that, while important to show our love for one another with quiet gestures and no expectation of gratitude or reciprocation, occasionally a large gesture would not go amiss.”

It's sentimental, but even Albert won't deny that most of his actions the night before were pure sentimentality. 

He slides behind Dale and cups his ribs, sliding his hands down until he can cross them across his abdomen. Dale lowers the heat on the stove and removes the spoon before placing his hands over Albert’s. 

“There has been bias in our care for each other. I don't feel that I do enough--”

“Quiet,” Albert demands. He can't bear to hear Dale demean his own heart. “I get everything I need, want, and more from you, Coop.” Albert’s self esteem might have tried to encourage him to self-pity, to believe that Dale was only with him out of gratitude for his care, but what Dale didn't realize was that he himself had thoroughly defeated those notions. 

They eat and drink and Albert tells him about the horrific case that had him working three nights in a row until the wee hours. After dinner, Albert cleans up while Dale takes a shower. It may be a Friday, but there’s a tacit agreement between them that attempting to do something with the night besides curl up in bed will just leave Albert irritable and Dale long-suffering. He drops the last of the cutlery into the drying rack and rolls his neck to crack it as he makes his way to the bedroom. Dale comes out of the en suite as he enters, hair slicked with water, face reddened from the heat, and Albert is hit in the gut with how much he wants him.

It’s not lust, really. It’s something that radiates from his chest, feels bigger than he can contain. He watches Dale drop the towel onto the chair and reach for the drawer with his boxer shorts.

“I don’t know why you’re even bothering,” Albert rasps, unabashedly cataloguing all parts of Dale’s body.

Dale is not one who bothers with seduction or coquettish behavior. Upon hearing Albert’s pronouncement, he does nothing but remove his hands from the drawer. He looks at Albert, expectant but not beseeching. Albert keeps looking him over, deliberate in his gaze. He’s obsessed with letting Dale know how much he desires him. How much he cares. He may know Dale loves him, but Albert has to make sure he knows how much he is loved in return.

He steps away from the door, ready to press Dale against the nearest flat surface, but his partner meets him in the middle and they kiss like they haven’t seen one another in a week. It’s not an entirely inaccurate summary as their comings and goings have resulted in perfunctory kisses and short conversations. The small courtesies, the little gestures, the insignificant actions that taken altogether point to love and affection have been a good reminder that the physical is not always needed to express the emotional. But now, they have time.

Dale’s thumbs are circling the joints at his jaw and his fingers are pressing against pressure points at the back of his neck and his scalp is tingling. Albert thinks there must have been massage lessons somewhere in his partner’s eclectic background. His own hands map the muscle and bone of Dale’s back, still damp enough that his calluses catch and hold on tiny imperfections.

Dale pulls at his tie and together they divest Albert of his clothing. They climb into bed, pulling the covers with them as the radiator heat does little to shield them from the cold that creeps between the sills of the windows. The cocoon their heat creates is comforting and intimate and they kiss leisurely, softly, hands caressing.

Dale hooks a leg over Albert’s hip and the hitch of his breath when their cocks press together causes a trickle of arousal and satisfaction to slip down Albert’s spine. He grasps Dale’s rear and encourages his partner to move against him. Sweat and precum smooth the way, but they move carefully, letting the desire build. 

Albert loves this: a moment stretched out slow and sweet like molasses. They aren’t rushing, they aren’t working towards a particular goal beyond pleasure, and it feels better than literally every sexual encounter Albert has had up until this thing with Dale started.

“Come on, babe,” Albert says. His own hips shift in time with Dale’s, but sometimes he has to remind Dale that he’s allowed to seek gratification. He’s too giving, too used to gender dynamics that don’t apply here, and Albert loves pushing him.

“Albert,” Dale whispers and a slight crack in his throat is the only measure of his desperation. Albert takes further control and rolls them, trying to smother Dale with his weight, encouraging one of his legs up around Albert’s hip. He’s near the edge himself, almost dizzy with the nearness of his orgasm, but unwilling to come first. He licks and kisses Dale’s throat, taut as his head is thrown back with pleasure, and Albert digs his hands into the sheets involuntarily as he tries to hang on.

Albert is near frantic with pleasure and he can feel himself losing whatever rhythm he had, but Dale’s eyelids are fluttering and his short nails are scoring Albert’s back and in a matter of seconds he makes a soft, ecstatic sound as he comes. Albert kisses him, prolongs his breathlessness even as he regains enough sense to reach and grasp Albert’s ass, to encourage his movement.

It takes no time before Albert’s eyes clench shut and heat floods his cheeks, orgasm rolling up to a lightning snap that briefly steals his breath.

They’ve fallen away from each other when Albert gathers enough energy to take stock. Dale is breathing deep, but not asleep. His fingers move idly through the mess they’ve left. It almost makes Albert blush to see it. Instead, he blows out a raspberry, kicks away the blankets, and rolls out of the bed. In the bathroom, he pulls out a hand towel and waits for the water to warm before dousing it. He moves to the door and tosses it at Dale, where it lands on his chest with a wet thwap. Dale jack-knifes with a yelp and the entire production makes Albert snort and laugh to spite himself. Dale levies a thoroughly unimpressed look at him, but he just smirks and moves to turn on the shower.

It still feels new, this thing between them, for all it is over a year old and Albert is ever aware that his mouth could fuck everything up one day. But the nights of pleasure, the weeks from hell, and the moments of puerile humor have all done well to convince him that this may be the one. This may be the last. While the grand gestures will never be necessary, he loves that Dale cares enough to think about it.

Next week, Albert thinks, he’ll endeavor to offer the same.


End file.
